It was a compromising question, and the priest weighed his words carefully before replying. “She does––seem to––to have rather––a––rather unusual––religious views,” said he slowly.
“Would it not be well to have Dr. Sullivan examine her?”
“To what end?”
“That we may know what to do with her. If she is mentally unsound she must not be sent to the orphanage.”
“She should be taken––a––I mean, we should try to locate her friends. I have already searched the city directory; but, though there are many Reeds, there are none listed with the initials she gave me as his. I had thought,” he continued hesitatingly, “I had thought of putting her in charge of the Young Women’s Christian Association––”
“Father Waite!” The Sister Superior rose and drew herself up to her full height. “Do you mean to say that you have contemplated delivering her into the hands of heretics?” she demanded coldly, her tall figure instinct with the mortal pride of religious superiority.
“Why, Sister,” returned the priest with embarrassment, “would it not be wise to place her among those whose views harmonize more closely with hers than ours do?”
“Father! I am surprised––!”
“But––she is not a Catholic!” urged the man, with a gesture of impatience. “And she will never be one. The combined weight of all the centuries of church authority could not make 29 her one––never! I must take her to those with whom she rightfully belongs.”
The Sister Superior’s eyes narrowed and glittered, and her face grew dark. “Never!” she said in a low tone. “I would rather see her dead! Father Waite, you exceed your authority! I am in charge here, and I shall report this case to the Bishop!”